Vibrations of volcano 
glossolalia vibrato 
spark, fly, pour, run red rivulets, 
drip burning droplets into my canal. 

A tune of flames I feebly touch. 

Hot summer air from forgotten swamps 
carries bullfrog solace o'er meadows 
to my humble carbon home. A laugh — 
human? A laugh, not mocking but sweet, 
cooling the heat to soft steam, a sauna 
of dreams. Trembling that tune of flames 
scattered 'cross the sky in symphony. 

The laugh dances them. The laugh grasps at me. 

No pain, no shame, no doubt, no fear. 

Just he, and me.